The men, who labour and digest things most, Will be much apter to despond than boast; For if your author be profoundly good, 'Twill cost you dear before he's understood.

Our heroes of the former days deserved and gained their never-fading bays.

I will not quarrel with a slight mistake, Such as our nature's frailty may excuse.

The men, who labour and digest things most, Will be much apter to despond than boast; For if your author be profoundly good, 'Twill cost you dear before he's understood.

The last loud trumpet's wondrous sound, Shall thro' the rending tombs rebound, And wake the nations under ground.

What you keep by you, you may change and mend but words, once spoken, can never be recalled.

Grief dejects and wrings the tortured soul.